


For You

by ComplimentaryCuller



Category: Good Omens (TV), Supernatural
Genre: Crowley (Good Omens) is Crowley (Supernatural), M/M, Minor Character(s), he thought zira was dead and got REAL messed up over it, i dont rlly go here..., so excuse me if i mess up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-23
Updated: 2020-05-23
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:41:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24342940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ComplimentaryCuller/pseuds/ComplimentaryCuller
Summary: Aziraphale died. So Crowley decided that everyone responsible had to die.And when he finished, there was little else to do. So he messed with some humans, played a part, just killing time, really.But they went too far, this time.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 269





	For You

“I did it for  _ you!” _ Crowley yelled, sunglasses cast to the ground. “I did it for  _ you, _ angel, I did it to  _ make them pay, _ they killed you and I made them suffer! I spent  _ centuries _ making them pay! Why?!?  _ Why didn’t you come back?!?” _ He stared, bereft, uncomprehending. “I- I made them all stop, they were all gone, it would have been safe- I don’t understand. Why didn’t you come back?” Crowley stopped, turned his head away, covered his eyes with his hand, face twisted in sorrow.

“Why did you leave me alone?” he asked, sounding so, so small.

“Crowley, I-”

Dean filled in the last of the circle, devil’s trap snapping shut, and Crowley, King of Hell, stiffened.

“Oh,” he said coldly, taking his hand away from his golden eyes. “I see.” He snapped his fingers, and his shades appeared, their reflective lenses giving the Winchesters a glimpse of themselves as they approached the edge of the circle. Crowley looked at the stranger, mouth in a thin line.

“You’re not even him, are you? A look alike. Or an illusion, maybe. Crafty little creatures, humans,” he sneered.  _ “Imaginative.”  _

“Hey, eyes on us, demon,” Dean barked, not liking being ignored.

Crowley whipped his head to the hunters, motion too fluid, too quick to be human. He’d never, not even at his worst, looked this angry- no, not angry.  _ Finished. _

“You went too far,” he said flatly, stalking forward. 

Instinctively, the Winchesters stepped back, even knowing that he was trapped.

He advanced slowly, his gait slow, serpentine, predatory. “The thing is,” he continued. “I don’t think you even know what you’ve done.” 

“Crowley,” the stranger said. “Crowley, leave them a-”

“SHUT UP!” the King of Hell screamed. “Don’t pretend you’re him! Don’t pretend that you’re nothing but a dull copy of the angel I loved!” 

Crowley stormed to the hunters, face twisted in rage as he refused to look at the pathetic imitation, and effortlessly stepped out of the circle, true aura filling the air as the humans paled.

“No more games,” he snarled. “I’ve kept you around for a good long while, a cute little distraction, but I’m done.  _ You. Went. Too. Far. _ ” Crowley wrenched them into the air, sneering as they kicked and flailed, eyes wide and alarmed, breaths terrified and quick.

“Crowley,  _ stop it!” _ the stranger cried. “I know you, this isn’t yo-”

_“No you don’t!!!”_ Crowley screamed. _“You’re not him! He’s DEAD! I held his body in my arms, you bloody fool! I mourned him!_ _I loved him and he’s GONE!!! STOP PRETENDING YOU KNOW ME!”_

The stranger went very still. 

“I was there, on that garden wall, as we watched Adam and Eve leave Eden and you defended them,” he said. “I was there at Noah’s Ark, as we watched the animals go on and you tried to protect the children. I was there at the crucifixion and you mourned that poor child’s suffering. I was there in Rome, when we drank wine at that bar and I invited you to oysters. I was there in Albion when you pretended to plague the land as the Black Knight, and thought you were so sneaky about helping the peasants.  _ I know you, Crowley, and this is not who you are.” _

Crowley froze, face contorted in grief so strong it  _ hurt, _ and the humans fell to the ground.

The Winchesters held each other as they picked themselves up, wrong-footed as the King of Hell turned his back to them to look at the stranger.

“You’re not him,” he said brokenly. “You’re  _ not _ . He would have come back.”

“I tried,” the stranger said softly. “I came as soon as I could, my dear. They ripped out my Grace.”

Crowley inhaled sharply, terrified, hopeful and sickened by it. “Your-?” 

“They ripped it out, and scattered it to the stars. I only just got it back, my dear.” The stranger stepped closer, a sad, soft expression on his kind face, and something seemed to break in Crowley.

“Aziraphale,” he breathed, tears slipping down his face. “It’s you. It’s really you.”

“Of course it is, you silly old serpent,” Aziraphale said, stepping forward and gathering the weeping demon into his arms. “Who else?”

“You were dead,” Crowley sobbed, fisting his hands in Aziraphale’s coat desperately, terrified that if he let go he’d lose him again. “You were dead, and nothing mattered anymore, you were dead and _ so was I.” _

“I’m here,” Aziraphale said. “I’m here.”

Sam fired two shots into Crowley’s back, desperate, and wasn’t even surprised when they were deflected by massive white wings.

It was just the kind of day he’d been having.

The humans used their time-honored Plan B: running like fuck. 

And behind them, the King of Hell and the Principality of the Eastern Gate clung to each other.

  
  


* * *

  
  


There were no more demons on Earth. None. They had all just-  _ disappeared. _ Poof. There were still supernatural creatures, vampires and werewolves and such, but all demonic happenings had just  _ stopped. _

They weren’t complaining, but it was fucking weird.

“Hey, Cas?” Dean asked. “I’ve got some fucking questions.”

“Yes?” the angel said, blinking into existence in front of him.

Dean gestured at the map of demonic activity. 

“That’s called a map,” Castiel said.

Dean was not amused. “Where are the demons?” he asked. “We can’t find them anymore. They’ve found a way to cloak themselves somehow.”

“No,” Castiel said. “They’re gone. Heaven checked.” 

“Ok,” Dean said. “Now  _ explain. _ Demons don’t just- just quit.”

“Oh, no,” Castiel said. “Crowley didn’t  _ quit. _ He’s on his honeymoon. Dagon is minding Hell currently. Apparently, they’re cataloging and digitizing Hell. Much more efficient. They’re making a computer division, I hear.”

  
  


* * *

  
  


Dagon had gone mad with power. At that very moment, they were deep in the bowels of Hell, cackling as they saw their carefully laid scheme fall into motion.

_ Finally, _ the printer that always jammed was being replaced. With one from Heaven, no less! Stolen right from Gabriel’s office! 

They were alight with glee, grinning.

“The new laptops came in, my Lord,” a demon said tentatively, nervous around the temp-boss.

_ “Excellent,” _ Dagon cooed. “Bring me a human soul, one from the last decade, YOUNG! And force them to give a computer training seminar to EVERYONE!” They cackled again, ecstatic at their own genius.  _ They’d ALL be miserable! _

“Hey, Dag? I think you’ve finally fucking lozzt it,” Beelzebub said, head propped up on their hand, in the tone of someone who would be worried, if not for the fact that they didn’t care.

Dagon only grinned wider.

  
  


* * *

  
  


“So… how long is he going to be gone?” Sam asked, moving on from the whole ‘honeymoon’ thing.

“Oh, a century, maybe two,” Castiel said. “They’re traveling the world. Introducing Aziraphale to his godson. That sort of thing.”

“A century without demons,” Sam said longingly.

“I’m not going to say it, it’ll jinx us,” Dean said.

“Oh, and I have a prophecy for you,” Castiel said. “Here.”

The old, decaying parchment read:

_ Fore once inn thine miserable lives, thou hast gotten lucky, New Worlders. No more shall demons plague thine dayes. Alle other matter of creatures remaine, but thy greatest foe is no longer against ye- indeed, thy line is protected. Thou mayest say it without fear of jinx. _

_ -Agnes Nutter, Witch _

“Great,” Dean muttered. “Another witch.”

“She’s dead,” Castiel said. “And a good witch, too.”

“Wow,” Sam said. “For once in our miserable fucking lives, we’ve gotten lucky.”

The two humans took a moment to soak that in.

“Wow,” Dean said. “We have, haven’t we?”


End file.
